


The Dangers of Tequila in Detective Work

by Sunnyrea



Series: Text Messege Fics [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-10
Updated: 2011-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-21 05:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnyrea/pseuds/Sunnyrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"You know, John," Sherlock interrupts. "I don't think I've had tequila before."<br/>John glances at Sherlock, “but now you have?”<br/>“mmhmm!”</i><br/>(John and Sherlock tackle broken bones, alcohol and drunk fooling, funny times for all!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dangers of Tequila in Detective Work

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is complete crack, clearly not my finest work. I told my friend Ben (the John to my Sherlock) I would text him a fic about hospitals and tequila and this is what happened. So it's a bit OC and crazy and totally cracky. But laughter is the best medicine for all so if you need a laugh, check it out.

"Would you hold still?" John snaps as he drags Sherlock through the emergency room door.

"I am." Sherlock stumbles out of John's hands then falls right back into them. "Quite still."

John hits the wall under Sherlock's weight and barely stays upright.

"You're getting blood everywhere!" John barks, finally managing to steer them through the door.

The two people in the waiting room, it is 4 AM after all, stare at the scene then very pointedly turn away.

"I am jus... just fine!" Sherlock insists. "I can certainly stand." And as he says so Sherlock collapses into a chair.

"Your finger is broken and sliced half way through which I can't even imagine how you managed." John points at Sherlock. "Do not move."

Sherlock makes a very nonplussed face, glancing at his right hand still bleeding around the gauze John hastily wrapped around it. Sherlock scoffs and shakes his hand as if flicking off dirt, instead getting blood on the wall. John grits his teeth and walks to the counter; the woman looks up with obviously sleep deprived eyes.

"Hi." John tries to exude charm. "My friend's broke his finger and," John looks back to see Sherlock slumped so far down in the chair he's nearly on the floor, "and uh... God, bleeding quite a bit."

The woman cranes her head to peer around John. He sees her eyebrows raise and she hands John a clip board. "Fill out the form."

"Thanks."

John returns to sit beside Sherlock with the clipboard. "Okay so -"

"You know, John," Sherlock interrupts. "I don't think I've had tequila before."

John glances at Sherlock, “but now you have?”

“mmhmm.”

John blinks very slowly. "So that's why you smell like a corner pub? I thought you were following a lead on the Berring case?"

Sherlock laughs very high pitched and waves his injured hand. "Ohhhh... yes. That yes. It led to the pub in fact."

"Which led to tequila?" John sighs and rubs his temple, filling in Sherlock's name on the form. "Why would you do that? Do you even drink?"

"Nooo, not usually, no." Sherlock sits up suddenly and flops over John’s shoulders, left arm on the back of John’s chair, and points at the form. "I have no history of heart disease. And no… oh that's a typo, tch, can't stay at this hospital; Bad grammar."

Sherlock starts to stand up but John grabs his suit jacket and tugs him back in place before he moves far. "Shut it, Sherlock."

"No, John." Sherlock jabs his finger into the page. "Should be two Ts, you see?"

"You're getting blood on the form! Stop it!"

John shoves Sherlock aside with his shoulder which only succeeds in shifting Sherlock so he's draped along the back of John's plastic chair, head nuzzled into John’s spine.

Sherlock sighs heavily and whines. "I don't believe I like tequila."

Sherlock’s tone breaks through the annoyance and John chuckles.

He feels the vibrations of Sherlock's voice through his back like a hum. "How did you end up drinking it then?"

Sherlock shifts his head back around with his ear down on John's shoulder. "Ah, yes, well our sus... susssp... suspect. There, that word. Well, I sat at the end of the bar just to obsevah her and…"

"That's not the word," John interrupts.

Sherlock lifts his head and glares which only half does the trick since his mouth doesn't follow the plan and he keeps smiling.

"So." Sherlock puts his head back down and rests his bleeding hand on John's knee. "She comes over to me which some what ruins the point!" Sherlock taps John’s knee with the good fingers of his hand. “Some type of flirting."

John's eyes widen and he stares straight ahead at the wall in front of him. "Oh god, I’m not sure I want to hear this."

Sherlock attempts to sit up but instead just knocks his head into John’s.

“Ow!” John snaps but Sherlock plows on.

"No, isss fine. You see." Sherlock tosses his hair slightly in John's face. "She said she's seen me - god, what was that grammar - she said she saw me, there, and wanted to buy me a drink." Sherlock turns his head down and up so he can awkwardly look at John. "Do women do that?"

John laughs once and switches his gaze down to Sherlock. "Uh, yes sometimes they do, Sherlock."

Sherlock snorts and scoots himself around so his can lay his head in John's lap, knocking the clip board out of the way. "Hmm, ridiculous."

John holds the clipboard above Sherlock’s head and sighs. He really just wants to sleep but Sherlock does look rather adorable half curled in his lap and half curled in the chair, feet dangling to the side. John shakes his head and fills in the 'manner of injury or illness' section of the form.

"So, she said something about shots and I could not let her leave because I had to find out what she... what she.. hmm what did I - oh! Had to find out what her wallet looked like." Sherlock grabs John's wrist so he makes a large black line across the page.

"Sherlock!"

"She's not the one, by the way." Sherlock shakes his head and waves John's hand as if it's his own. "Wallet was purple, not right."

"Can I have my hand back now?" John asks.

Sherlock squints as if to say 'it's my hand' then let’s go with a pout. John smiles and finishes writing 'also intoxicated, mostly likely unrelated' at the end of Sherlock’s description of injury. Then he glances down at Sherlock. Sherlock stares up at him, biting the edge of his lip.

"What?"

"Drugs are much better than alcohol."

John blinks slowly, not sure how the topic changed. "Uh… okay."

Sherlock shakes his head. "No, much quicker and can be applied directly to the blood stream."

"Wonderful logic."

"You would not believe -" Sherlock draws out the 'e's in the word and waves both hands, no blood trail luckily, to emphasize, "how many shots it took to get to this."

"Why did you keep taking them once you saw she wasn't the murderer?" John asks. He can't quite explain it but something irks him about Sherlock drinking with a girl at a bar. "You must have seen the wallet after the first shot or so since she said she'd buy you a drink?"

Sherlock scoffs loudly in that way which means 'stupid John' and rolls his eyes. "Had to hear about her friend of course; the other suspect. She was not there!"

"Wait." John puts the clip board down. "They're friends? I didn't think they knew each -"

"I say friend." Sherlock points between them. "But I really mean friend." He says the word more forcefully and motions between them again. "So, I had to keep up the shots."

"Wait, why did you say friend twice?"

"Friend." Sherlock says the word again. "Not just friend but friend!"

John narrows his eyes. "Um... you mean like friends with benefits?"

Sherlock cocks his head as well as one can when lying down, while intoxicated with their head in someone’s lap.

"Like... " John whispers, "shagging?"

"Yes!" Sherlock snaps both fingers rather unsuccessfully then hisses in pain. "Ow. Ow. That... ow."

"The alcohol may be wearing off some if you can feel that."

"Of course I can feel it, I could always feel it!" Sherlock snaps and groans. "Why couldn't you have fixed this at home John?"

John sighs. "Because our flat is not sterile."

Form completed, John cranes his head and tries to catch the eye of the woman behind the counter. He clears his throat loudly and she looks up. He wiggles the clip board, motions at Sherlock and gives her an imploring look. She raises both eyebrows and he mouths 'please?' She cracks the edge of a smile and stands up. She walks around her desk and over to the two of them taking the clipboard from John.

"Thank you," John says with extra Watson smile.

"It should only be five minutes," she says, "just need to find you an available doctor."

"I have one!" Sherlock calls after her. "He's right here."

"Yes, but my job's not the ER open at four, Sherlock."

John waves a hand before Sherlock can go into a rant about doctors or whatever nonsense and pats Sherlock’s chest. "Sherlock, okay, enough, how did you end up three sheets to the wind?"

"Interesting idiom...."

"Sherlock."

"Well, she said her girlfriend would love me which was odd because it’s her girlfriend not mine and women are just strange with their friends - girl and other wise - and I needed her to shut up and give me times for where they'd been Wednesday and she kept going on and on about my eyes and, ugh, would not stop touching my shirt."

"Oh, holy god." John puts a hand over his eyes.

"So inaccurate with her statements too, lying about her work because I know she is just a temp and not a veterinarian and must people always lie in bars and she mentioned a threesome which really is a ridiculous name for the activit- "

"Whoa, wait, what?" John snaps.

"And then she told me she'd gone to dinner with work colleagues Wednesday but Samantha hadn't so, no alibi and it must be Samantha." Sherlock claps his hands triumphantly then whines, cradling his bandaged hand.

"Great,” John puts his hand on Sherlock’s forehead to focus him, “back up, did you just slur threesome?"

Sherlock blinks slowly. "Yes."

"Threesome?"

"Yes."

"You were invited to a threesome?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"I didn't go. Why would I?"

John's mouth hangs open as Sherlock looks up at him, perfect logical expression in place. Of course, why would Sherlock go have a threesome with a pair of lesbians? Or apparently bisexuals... or whatever tequila makes people into.

John clears his throat slowly. Move on. "So, despite the alcohol you got the information?"

Sherlock smiles very smugly and rocks his head slightly. "Of course."

"And then somehow you broke your finger and sliced it open?"

"Oh." Sherlock looks at his hand. "I did."

Then abruptly the nurse from the counter returns, motioning the two of them back through the double doors. John hauls Sherlock to his feet and helps him saunter off - that really is the best word for it - to be healed. Strangely Sherlock sits silently through the entire run through of stitches and snapping on the small splint to keep his finger still to repair itself. John answers the questions, makes up some thing about a door frame as to how Sherlock did this when Sherlock does not respond, and the two of them are set free after about forty minutes.

"So." John flings up his hand and hails them a cab. "Feeling better?"

Sherlock breathes slowly through his nose and makes a 'little bit' gesture with his uninjured fingers. "Still intook... intex... intoxicahtted."

"Intoxicated."

"That."

A taxi stops and the two slide into the back, Sherlock with a bit of a tug from John.

"221 Baker Street," John informs the cabbie.

"B." Sherlock adds with a wave of his splinted finger.

"Well done."

Sherlock shoves across the seat into John and taps him on the nose. "No patronizing."

John pulls his head away from Sherlock's poking and laughs. "Okay, okay, fine, very serious." He then reaches down and picks up Sherlock's bandaged hand. "So, do I get to know now how you did this?"

John turns to face Sherlock. Sherlock's face is mere centimeters from his, tilted to the side with Sherlock's 'serious analyzing' expression on. John holds his ground and stares back, waiting. Sherlock lifts his good hand suddenly and presses two fingers against John's lips.

"You appear to have very kissable lips, John."

John's eyebrows fly up.

Sherlock puts pressure into his fingers against John's lips and drums them twice over the skin.

He nods assuredly. "It would appear."

John leans his head back slightly so he can talk, Sherlock’s fingers remaining in place in the air. "Uh, okay, good? Why?"

"I said appears!" Sherlock insists suddenly and smirks. “Would be good to know.”

"You're drunk, Sherlock, maybe -"

Then Sherlock kisses him. John breathes in quickly and puts a hand on Sherlock's chest because his brain shouts 'wait wait wait not now no wait!' However, Sherlock shoves John up against the car door so he's trapped.

Okay, so they’re kissing or rather Sherlock is kissing – honestly it feels fantastic but John really should not kiss Sherlock back, not when he’s this far gone. The feel of Sherlock’s lips on his threaten to make John just as drunk. Before John can decide to be a gentleman or a cad, however, Sherlock breaks off.

"Ah!" Sherlock exclaims. "Yes!"

"What?" John gasps in air.

"Correct, of course."

"Of course?" John squeaks.

Sherlock curls his fingers around John's neck and kisses him again, more forcefully this time regardless of the door smashing earlier.

"Wait -" John tries to say. "You really -" Sherlock cuts John off, deepening the kiss, biting John's lip. "Ow!"

"Oi!" The driver snaps and bangs on the window separating them. "Knock it off, you're nearly there!"

Sherlock makes a frustrated noise against John's lips.

"Sher -" Sherlock kisses away his name, not letting up – perfect lips, hands on John’s neck, tongue slipping past John’s lips – and he falters, kisses back – Sherlock’s hand hot as it slips under John’s jacket.

"I said shut it!" The cabby shouts and John turns his head quickly so Sherlock smashes into the side of his face.

"Okay, okay!" John admonishes the cab driver and puts firm hands on Sherlock. "I got him."

Sherlock growls and kisses John's face at the top of his jaw. "Disappointing."

"Relax, Sherlock." John keeps his hand against Sherlock's chest, making sure Sherlock doesn't jump to action again.

Sherlock nuzzles John's hair then sags against him, curling around John's side and blows out air.

He hums quietly and laughs once. "Your hair smells like chemicals."

John frowns. "What?"

"Like the kitchen."

John stares up at the ceiling of the cab and counts to five, six, seven -

"Stop counting."

"How did you -"

"I can feel it in your throat."

Even drunk Sherlock is the detective and John laughs. He can feel Sherlock grin against his skin and Sherlock kisses John's neck, soft and sluggish. John rather hopes Sherlock does not pass out before they get home. Just as he begins to think about how he might get Sherlock inside should loss of consciousness occur the cab stops and the door of 221B comes into view.

Sherlock crawls across the car to the door then swings it open, clamoring out onto the street. John fishes money out of his wallet as fast as he can, unwilling to leave Sherlock alone on the street.

"Keep it," John says, handing off the money and climbing out of the cab.

"Lovely night!" The cabby cries after flashing John a wink.

John bites off a groan and turns back to Sherlock now leaning against the door of their flat.

"John."

"Sherlock."

"Keys?"

"Don't you have yours?"

Sherlock's brow furrows as if he is really not sure. John waves a hand and pulls his keys from his pocket, shooing Sherlock to the side so he can open the door. Sherlock leans against John, chin on his shoulder making it difficult to open the door.

"Sloooooooow," Sherlock complains.

"Yes, all right!" John snaps and the door swings open, sending them both tumbling inside.

Sherlock, surprisingly, recovers first and bounds over to the stairs.

"Ah! Home, finally." Sherlock spins around and waves his injured hand. "And John I must say, you were quite adept as to your organization of this hospital trip then home again."

John brushes off his pants and sighs. "Someone has to make sure you don't bleed to death."

"Hmmm." Sherlock smiles, his head swaying slightly and he stumbles backward off balance to lean against the railing of the stairs.

John sighs. "If you're done being the crazy drunk, can I sleep now?"

"Hrm, no." Sherlock tilts his head further over than he would have sober and crosses his arms slowly. "I believe I was analyzing how kissable you are in the cab."

John groans quietly. "Oh, don't forget anything do you?"

"No."

"Except the solar system."

Sherlock sighs heavily and grabs John's arm, dragging them both clumsily up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, Sherlock stumbles and grabs the door frame to stop himself tumbling all the way.

"Careful!" John says, coming up to Sherlock's side. "You're still full of tequila."

"Very." Sherlock snaps up and wraps his arms around John's waist. "And you are not. No no, but still very kissable." He kisses John again, pushing John back against the door frame, stabbing the door jam into John's back.

"Ow, okay." John puts his hands up not sure what to do with them because really this isn't how this evening was supposed to go. "Okay, can we... just...." But Sherlock does not relent, sucking John’s lower lip.

John shifts himself to the side as Sherlock keeps kissing him to get out of the door but the sudden loss of something to lean on makes them both fall. John hits the edge of the couch and Sherlock's weight sends them sprawling down on top of it, luckily no computers or anything to be crushed underneath.

"Oh, Sherlock..." John groans and tries to take a deep breath. "You're heavy."

"You are comfortable."

"And kissable, apparently."

Sherlock shifts up with his elbows on the couch on either side of John and his hands on John's chest. He grins and waves his bandaged finger. "And a finger saver."

John chuckles and puts his hands on Sherlock's back. "Oh god, if you could hear yourself."

"I can certainly hear myself." Sherlock grins down at John. He kisses John gently once on the lips. "I hear everything."

John sighs and finally gives in, sliding a hand up into Sherlock's hair. "Well hear this then, Sherlock, kiss me again."

Sherlock smiles very slowly and puts his hand on John's cheek. He lies all the way down on John's chest, kisses John and John kisses right back. Sherlock still smells like tequila mixed with a hint of disinfectant. His lips are warm and finally at home, together, John can focus on just Sherlock all around him. John pushes up, kisses Sherlock, and Sherlock hums against his lips, chuckles.

"Kissable," Sherlock murmurs.

"You know," John lays his head back down against the couch. "I don't think kissable is a word."

Sherlock scoffs and purses his lips dramatically, head shaking. "It is, obviously"

"Obviously."

"Check the dictionary if you don’t believe me, John."

“Would you get off to let me?”

“Certainly no.”

"Well then I’ll just have to believe you.” John runs his hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck, keeping him close.

"As always, kissable John Watson." Then Sherlock lies his head down on John's chest. "Hmm... and comfortable."

Sherlock shifts slightly so he lays half beside John and half on top of him. John rubs a hand down Sherlock's side, shifts his hands under to unbutton Sherlock's jacket so Sherlock doesn’t tear the button off. Sherlock nestles his nose against John's neck and makes a happy noise.

John strains to peer down at Sherlock who seems to be settling in for the long haul. "Oh god, we're sleeping here aren't we?"

Sherlock makes an unintelligible noise which sounds half asleep already.

John sighs. "Yeah, we are."

 

Come morning, John wakes up when he feels the heavy weight on top of him shift slightly and a long groan emanates from the pile of person. John cracks open an eye, blinking at the light coming through the curtains. He stares down his torso, Sherlock still splayed out of top of him but now they have blanket on them as well.

John chuckles. "Ah, Mrs. Hudson..."

Sherlock peeks up very slowly through his hair then shifts his head back down into John's chest. "....oh no."

John laughs. "Oh yeah."

"I do apologize, John."

John bursts out laughing, hands flat against Sherlock's back.

Sherlock lifts his head and shakes it at John. "Please, lower your volume and what is so amusing?"

"I just don't think I've ever heard you apologize for anything before."

Sherlock snorts and lies his head down. "I apologize to myself for those twelve shots."

"Twelve!"

"Did I not tell you the number?"

"God no and I'm glad you didn't."

"Hmm... well, twelve shots and a killer identified." Sherlock pulls himself up so his arms support him over John. "Worth the pain I suppose." Sherlock turns his wrist over to look at his watch. "Noon. Hmm."

John groans. "Oh, Sarah is going to kill me."

"I doubt she ever expects you at work on time any more, John."

John glares up at Sherlock. "Will you get off me then?"

Sherlock stills and clears his throat. "John, about.... about the cab ride."

"And the door frame and falling to the couch?" John adds.

Sherlock makes a sound in the back of his throat much like choking. "Yes. That. I... well... I did not mean to.... what I should say is."

John sighs and grasps Sherlock's neck. "Oh shut it, Sherlock." Then he pulls Sherlock down and kisses him.

Sherlock breathes swiftly through his nose before relaxing against John. John chuckles against Sherlock's lips and pushes hair from Sherlock's face as he pulls back slightly.

"So," he kisses Sherlock once, "Are you ever going to tell me just what you did to your finger."

Sherlock kisses the edge of John's mouth and shakes his head. "No."

"Well fine.” John huffs. "And you know, you used the word kissable about a dozen times."

Sherlock raises an eyebrow and kisses John hard, pushing him into the cushions then he stops abruptly and speaks with his lips right against John. "The sentiment still remains, my dear John."

John smiles. "No objection."


End file.
